


I'll Hold You Up

by reluctant_abandon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wall!smut, Wincest - Freeform, reluctance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:29:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reluctant_abandon/pseuds/reluctant_abandon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's being all annoying noble and won't give in to the inevitable. Sam's getting cranky and decides to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Hold You Up

Sam stared at the motel door, a full blown bitchface scrunching his features. It was almost three in the morning and Dean was still out. The bars were closed now and any warm and fuzzy “let's give him the benefit of the doubt” thoughts had been replaced by overwhelming anger. His idiotic, cowardly brother was out fucking some girl. And all Sam could do was sit and stare at the door, thinking.

It was hard to remember how it had started. Probably because it hadn't started. Some part of this had been alive and gnawing at his gut for years. But it had turned from drunken masturbation material to something real only months before. And it all started with a look. Dean's always penetrating glances altered somehow. A question crept into his eyes and it wasn't the usual, “Are you okay?” It was more. More searching, more hesitant, more need.

It took Sam two months to figure out what that look meant. Maybe he should have realized sooner, but he didn't. It took rock hard, physical proof before the realization hit. And the proof ... rock hard and irrefutable.

They'd been driving forever. The car was hot and cramped and Sam's shoulders were aching from driving too long. Dean's fingers were strumming against black paint, the sound almost annoying. Ahead of them, a meadow came into view and Sam turned to his bored brother, beaming.

A minute later, he was hauling Dean out of the car, his brother grudgingly going along with Sam's whim. The sun was blaring and they both stripped down to jeans and nothing more. The grass was soft against the pads of Sam's feet and it felt lazy and relaxed, and right. They squared off against one another, happily falling back on old habits of breaking up long drives and boring days stuck inside motel rooms.

Hand to hand training was something they had always done together, even when Dean was infinitely older and cooler and barely made time to rough up his baby brother's hair between dates and friends and hunts. He would always make time to train. Even after Sam started beating him pretty regularly. He didn't get sullen or call an end to their training, only continued to teach and play.

Their sparring got out of control like it always did. Competition kicked in. They were moving too fast, one errant punch leading to another until predatory anger and taunting playfulness mixed to bring out the Hunter in them both. The power rush was intoxicating, it surged through their limbs until pupils were blown and teeth were bared. Anywhere else they would have pulled back. But here, together like this, neither flinched nor backed down. They let themselves flare out of control, safe in this space together.

Sam took them to the ground, a smirk twisting his mouth at the advantage his weight would give him. Dean didn't give up easily. He scraped and twisted, the soft grass mellowing their struggles. Finally, body pressed flush to his brother and panting heavily, Sam found himself on top. He had both of Dean's wrists in one large hand. His hips were pressed forcefully to his brother's, holding him down. Sam opened his mouth, ready to mock and taunt, when he saw the look on Dean's face.

It was the look he'd been puzzling over for months. And here it was, blatant and harsh with question and need. Dean turned his head to the side, blushing as Sam felt the unmistakable shape of Dean's cock rapidly hardening against his ass. Sam froze, expressionless but unflinching. After a tense pause, where the seconds dragged by and neither of them attempted to move away, Dean met his eyes. His expression was searching and shameful and so full of need that Sam parted his lips, desperate to say something.

Nothing came.

The silence stretched and then the moment broke and Dean was shoving him away with grunted excuses and promises of a cold shower.

After that, he recognized the looks for what they were. When he came out of the shower and Dean's eyes subtly followed him, he knew. When some girl was doing her best to pick Sam up, breasts pressed against his chest and coy giggles echoing on the dance floor, he'd catch Dean watching them and knew exactly what his brother was thinking. He'd felt that rush of lonely longing and shame enough times to recognize it now.

Strangely, Dean's hunger wasn't shocking. It was the same ragged need that had been living in Sam's belly for years. Sam understood that. What shocked the hell out of him was that his take charge brother was refusing to do anything about it. So, as the days stretched by and nothing happened, Sam decided to help things along.

The first attempt was a disaster. Dean was getting coffee and Sam stripped down and hopped in the shower. It took longer than anticipated. The hot water gave out and he stood in the bathroom, shivering and pissed off by the time the door opened. He threw the towel to the floor and gripped the doorknob, shaking despite the determination hardening his stomach. Going for casual, he threw the door open and walked into the room, stark naked and raking a hand through his hair.

And there Dean stood, doing his best to charm the middle aged housekeeper as he helped her strip one of the beds. Sam had just enough time for his eyes to widen in shock before Dean glanced up. Shock and embarrassment and maybe just a twinge of awe crossed Dean's face before the maid took notice. Worse, she noticed Dean's obvious fluster.

“Oh,” she stuttered, already backing toward the door. “I didn't mean to ... intrude. I'll just...” The woman made a motion toward the door and grimaced.

“We're brothers,” Dean bit out, blushing a shade of red that looked painful.

The maid looked between them quickly and bit her lip in clear disbelief. “It's okay.” She shook her head and ducked out of the room, muttering, “Sorry!” as she left.

Dean didn't look at him, in that special way or any way at all, for almost a week. Sam moped.

After that, he kept things simpler. Whenever he'd catch Dean looking at him, he'd look back. One night he masturbated, not three foot from his brother, when he knew Dean wasn't asleep yet. He walked around shirtless. He talked about sex. He made each wound and pulled muscle into something nearly pornographic as he soothed away hurt, and blew on stinging wounds and leisurely worked the tension out of Dean's back and neck. He did everything but print up a pin with the phrase, “Fuck your brother. Ask me how.”

And still, nothing. Sam would find himself randomly glaring at his brother, his expression pinched and unpleasant. He wanted to be fair and give Dean time to deal with this. After all, Sam had suffered for years, never saying anything. But this was different. When it was just him, it felt like a secret. One of those big ones that you never confessed to, not even on your deathbed. Which really, was convenient if you happened to have a brother with abandonment issues and were likely to pop back up again. But now, knowing that Dean wanted him back, Sam wasn't sure that what his brother needed was time.

Given enough time, Dean could talk himself into or out of anything. Sadly, Sam really doubted that getting hammered and fucking a small-town whore was Dean's way of talking himself into a relationship with his brother.

The key card swiped into the lock. Sam hurriedly grabbed a magazine off the desk and opened it to a random page. He was pretending to be occupied, brows pinched together in concentration, when the key card ran through a second time. A few tries later, Sam was glaring at the door and he could hear Dean muttering curses out in the hall way.

He couldn't honestly be expected to get up and open the door for his drunken, cowardly, whore-fucking, idiot of a brother ... could he?

“Sammy?” The knock was quiet. Hopeful, but definitely abashed.

He stalked to the door and flung it open. All pretense of detachment dropped away and he was glaring openly as Dean flashed a pathetic grin and sauntered inward. He smelled of smoke, booze and perfume and Sam wanted to kick him in the balls.

“Sorry, Sammy.” Dean patted him on the shoulder and shrugged out of his coat, letting it fall to the floor. “You sleeping?”

“No, Dean. I wasn't sleeping.” He heard the ridiculous tone in his voice and hated it almost as much as he hated Dean for putting it there.

“Right.” Dean rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand in Sam's direction. “What, dude? Did I interrupt 'private time' with your girlfriend?” He made a crude gesture, his hand curling into a loose fist and jerking off the air.

“Oh, so you do remember how!” Sam spat, his hands clenching into fists. “The whores are what, then? You figure your year will run out before the STD's hit?”

Silence stretched between them. Dean cocked his head to the side, his look incredulous and then he was just rolling his eyes again and half stumbling toward the bathroom. Sam's defiance crumbled the second the door closed and he raked a hand through his hair in frustration. A solid pounding of rage and desperation and overwhelming need was echoing in his belly, demanding action.

And how dare Dean roll his eyes and wave him away like Sam was the one acting crazy? Here he was, sitting in what passed for a home between them and waiting for the person he loved to finish fucking some random girl. And Dean knew! How could he not? What with the botched naked attack and pornographic massages? He fucking knew!

"I'm not going to apologize!" Sam huffed out the instant Dean left the bathroom.

"Whatever, dude." Dean started for his bed, muttering beneath his breath, "Too tired to deal with your shit."

"My shit?" Sam jumped off the bed, stalking forward. "Because you're squeaky fucking normal, right? You're not doing anything?"

Dean jerked his eyes away, studying the stained carpet beneath his bare toes for long seconds. When he looked back up his gaze was fearful and guilty. "What am I doing?"

"Nothing!" Sam stepped forward, their chests almost brushing before Dean stumbled backward, his balance thrown. "You're not doing a god damn thing!"

"Then what's the problem?" Dean demanded, his voice rising.

"I'm sick of it!" Sam reached out and shoved his brother backward, smirking when Dean's shoulder blades hit the wall.

He stepped forward and slipped his thigh between Dean's legs, their hips and stomachs and chests coming together in one panic inducing motion. Dean went rigid, a husky gasp the only indication that he was anything beside shocked.

"Is this what you need?" Sam demanded. "You need me to hold you down and make you come and we can all pretend like it wasn't your idea in the morning?"

"What? No!" He shoved against Sam's chest, his breathing immediately out of control.

"Stop it!" Sam slammed the heel of his hand against Dean's shoulder and shoved him back against the wall with a thud. "I know, okay? So just stop it."

He leaned forward, ignoring his own pounding pulse, and nuzzled his cheek against Dean's. Long strands of hair fell forward to obscure his view and brush over his brother's lips. Dean jerked his head away, a small growl vibrating between them.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean grabbed Sam's wrist and tried to pry it away; tried to free himself.

"What's wrong with you?" Sam countered. The leg riding between Dean's legs pressed closer, daringly. "Tell me you don't want this!"

"I don't!" Dean went to his tip toes, edging away from the touch, his face flushed in panic. "Sammy ... don't. Please."

The worn down, washed away despair in his voice made Sam pause. He peered close, suddenly terrified that he was wrong. What if ... no!

"Stop it!" He curled long, brutal fingers around Dean's hip and pulled him downward. Against his thigh, Dean was hard. Damningly so. "I want this, okay? I want it and you don't have to do anything. Just...." He nuzzled his mouth against his brother's ear and whispered, "Just let me."

There was a moment of obvious indecision and then Dean's body went slack against the wall, his eyes sliding shut. A rush of predatory pleasure and heady need hit him hard and Sam was holding his control by a thread, almost shaking with it. He grabbed a handful of Dean's tee shirt and peeled it upward. The moment seemed to last forever and then the expanse of sleek muscles and smooth skin was displayed, begging to be branded and devoured.

When his hand fell to Dean's shoulder it wasn't to hold him down, but to scrape the callouses of his palm from shoulder to belt buckle in one long, teasing caress. Sam leaned forward, a decade of dirty fantasies and need so raw it burned flaring to life in his belly. He couldn't focus through the wanting to care if this was wrong or right, if he wanted it to keep them together or just because he was on fire and raving with pure, unfiltered and unapologetic lust.

Sam pressed a kiss to Dean's jawline, his teeth darting out to play and mark. The drag of his mouth moved downward, licking and sucking and teasing. The thrum of the air conditioner kicked on, sending a cool breeze against them. It didn't diminish the heat pulsing from their skin, only added another sensation to their already overloaded bodies. Moaning, Sam latched onto Dean's neck, mouth and tongue working against skin until it thrummed with blood in his mouth. His brother's groan vibrated his lips, encouraging his hips to shift and press closer.

His thumb traced the lines of Dean's belt buckle, his entire body tensed and pulsing with the single minded determination to get it off. Dean thrust his hips forward, a whimper rolling off his tongue and echoing in the room. The belt came undone and then Sam was pulling it from one loop after another.

Leaning close, he whispered, "You want me to bind your wrists, Dean?" He slid the thick band of leather across Dean's nipples. "Tie you up and suck you off and you don't even have to touch me."

He captured one of Dean's wrists in his hand and pressed it to the wall. "Is that what you want?"

"Enough, Sammy," Dean gasped out and dug his free hand into Sam's hair. "Just shut the hell up and ... kiss me."

Dean dragged his mouth lower and Sam obliged with little finesse. The moment their lips touched it turned into nipping teeth and sliding lips and tongues that delved and devoured rather than teased. Dean kissed him like he wanted to crawl under his skin and drive Sam to his knees.

Dean whimpered at the first brush of Sam's knuckles over the straining fabric at his fly. The zipper came down slowly, Sam's leisurely tease contrasted by Dean's bruising grip on his shoulders. And then the material was pooling around his ankles and Dean kicked it away, standing proud and needy in only a pair of black briefs.

"Fuck." Sam sank to his knees, smirking at the sound of Dean's breath leaving in a hiss. "Do you know how long...."

Long fingers sank beneath elastic and skimmed over taut muscles. Despite everything, Sam still felt a hitch of fear when he dragged the material downward, freeing his brother's cock. But it didn't last long. It wasn't that strange after all, he'd imagined doing this a thousand times. Dirty dreams and eyes squeezed shut as he came, and none of it compared to this moment. He dipped his head forward, his tongue lapping from the base to the tip in one long, profane motion.

Dean's harsh breaths and delicious groans grew in volume as Sam fell into a rhythm. His tongue darted out to tease the slit and then massage beneath the ridge. Fingers that Sam had secretly lusted over for years tangled in his hair, urging him closer. Twitching hips and husky, half crazed words of encouragement went straight to Sam's cock.

"Wait." Dean pushed him away and sagged against the wall, panting. When he looked down to meet Sam's eyes the expression on his face was pure desire, his lips curved up in a cocky smirk. "Strip."

Sam clambered to his feet, his hands going immediately to the painful confines of his jeans. Making himself pause, he cast a teasing look at his brother. "What? Like, slowly?"

"No," Dean snarled. "Like now."

He hastily and happily complied. Jeans and shirt and boxers hit the ground and he was kicking them away, hands already reaching out for his brother again. Dean turned them around, slamming Sam's shoulders to the wall with a thud that stole his breath. A second later they were pressed flush together, bare thighs and hips and chests meeting for the first time. Mouths came together, hot and urgent, while their hands frantically raced to map each other.

"Dean ..." Sam thrust against his brother's hips, a thrumming need beyond restraint shaking his body. "Hurry."

When firm fingers wrapped around his cock Sam hissed out a breath and reached for Dean's erection. The motion was familiar but the sight was not. Their foreheads rested together, both watching the other's hand sliding over their cocks. Sam's hips were thrusting forward, his grip a little too tight and his breathing completely out of control. Before him, Dean was panting, moisture leaking from his cock and sliding over Sam's fingers.

"Fuck, Sam." Dean's free hand caught at Sam's shoulder, his grip harsh. "Come on, Sammy. Be there, baby. Come on."

Dean was leaning against him, letting Sam and the wall hold him up as he cried out and tensed. His orgasm washed over both of them, harsh and intense and with a string of oaths and praises for his baby brother. His hand tightened, the motion sloppy and demanding, but it was enough. The warm streams of come against his stomach pushed Sam over the edge so hard that he slammed his head back against the wall as he came.

Their bodies trembled, Dean's face pressed to the curve of Sam's neck. And when their hands finally dropped away they moved together. Slick stomachs and over sensitized cocks sliding together in a happy, lazy moment of pure sensation.

Eventually Dean shifted away and looked up at Sam's hooded eyes. There was a single second where fear bloomed and reality rushed in, and then Dean muttered, "I always knew you wanted me."

"Whatever, dude." Sam leaned down and caught Dean's lips, making a point with his pillaging tongue. "You were freaking out."

"What? No! This was my plan!" Dean stepped back and grabbed his hand, leading Sam toward the bed. "You fell right into it."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself," with a grin, Sam added, "Baby."

"Yeah, I was kinda hoping you didn't hear that," Dean admitted.

"Oh, I did."

"Shut up." Dean shoved his brother onto the bed and smirked down at him. "You know you loved it."


End file.
